


call it a wish — my desiderium

by thornapple (survivalinstinctvalkyria)



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Break Up, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-18 05:35:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17574863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/survivalinstinctvalkyria/pseuds/thornapple
Summary: If I were to be selfish, I'd ask to meet you the next time our "tomorrows" collide....But they won't, will they?





	call it a wish — my desiderium

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acciss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acciss/gifts).



> I'm not feeling too good lately,,
> 
> This shouldn't have been therapeutic to write, but it was and I got carried away
> 
> I was half asleep when I wrote this, and still am

Extending his fingers out into nothingness, Eichi just wishes that someone could come to hold them their own, to give him warmth and void that emptiness between his fingers.

Unbidden, thoughts of green hair and eyes, glasses, and a constant scowl creep into his mind, and Eichi's hand outstretches just a little farther, like he's trying to reach that facsimile of Keito that he's imagined for himself.

He thinks of the times that Keito would hold his hand, kiss it, even, always with such a delicate care that it seemed misplaced on Eichi. His fingertips spread just a little more, as he tries to reimagine the feeling of Keito intertwining them with his own.

But it's useless, and stupid beyond belief. Lying with his stomach to the mattress of his bed and arm stretched out towards the window, Eichi reminds himself that it's just that: his imagination. He'd had a chance to hold Keito's hand — and hug him, and kiss him, and love him — and he'd wasted it, thrown out like all of those scrapped funeral plans on crumpled pieces of paper that they'd dreamed up, until they'd realized they needed to dream bigger. There's no point in dreaming bigger anymore, though, because Keito had shot down those dreams as suddenly as he'd allowed Eichi to materialize them.

Coming to terms with this fact for the fifth time in the past three days (because even after every other time, dreams, wishes — desiderium, mostly — had gotten the best of him, and he'd had to start over), Eichi sighs, letting himself pretend futilely that he's squeezing his fingers around Keito's hand, pulling him back, closer.

He doesn't realize how hard he's clenching his fist until the dull pain of his nails digging little half-moons into his palm becomes sharp and stinging — oh, it stings, the sharp reminder that Keito had abandoned him, and had been fine with Eichi abandoning him as well.

* * *

 

There's a bitter weight in his throat, clogging it up so that Eichi can't bring himself to say what he needs to. Bitterly regretful, it is, an anger like spoiled milk, and Eichi isn't even sure at whom.

At Keito, sure, for being so quick to take the easy way out, so quick to be heartlessly pragmatic. Because, the second that they'd had doubts on each other, the second they start fighting even the littlest bit, Keito had averted his eyes and put his guard up. It's as if everything was a chore for him when it came to Eichi, and he was eager to alleviate himself of it.

Maybe that's why, when Eichi had expressed even the slightest amount of jealousy regarding Kuro, Keito hadn't hesitated to throw Wataru's name back. Why? Why was he so eager to escalate the fight? Why did there even need to be a fight?

And why, of all things he could've done, did Keito need to suggest breaking up?

* * *

 

_ “Maybe we should break up.” _

_ Eichi's thinks he's mishearing the first time, so he pauses his screaming to ask, quietly, what Keito had said. _

_ “Maybe we should break up,” Keito repeats, and a weight drops in Eichi's stomach. _

_ “Wait, what? Just over this? Something so small?” _

_ Something so insignificant, so microscopic in the grand scheme of things — especially considering the endless love that Eichi cradles for Keito. _

_ “But with how we're fighting, doesn't it seem like this is looming over us, Eichi? Come on, if you're going to be a brat about this, maybe it should tell you something.” _

That I should give up on you, on us!? _ Eichi wants to cry, but he stays silent, feeling his fingers ball against his uniform trousers. _

_ Keito, the bastard, leans down to give Eichi a forced kiss, more an insincere brush of lips than anything else, and Eichi wants to vomit, suddenly, even though his fingers are telling him —  _ begging  _ him — to get a grip on Keito's hair, to pull him close and keep him there. _

_ “We can talk about this later, after we've cleared our heads,” Keito has the nerve to say, even though it should be obvious that the two of them are the least likely to actually be able to get their minds off something. _

_ Two days pass with the two of them still dating (at least through use of words), but not quite, because everything had seems stiff between them. When Keito finally asks if it's alright for the two of them to break up, Eichi just nods solemnly, not even knowing where to begin with the torrent of feelings twisting in his stomach. _

* * *

 

And why had Eichi himself been alright with it? Why had he been alright with Keito throwing him away like that?

Was it because of those cusps of regret that still linger when he thinks about Keito's old dream of becoming a mangaka, now torn and forgotten? Was he afraid of that quarrel repeating itself? Yes, he was, and he can't decide if that's reasonable or pitifully stupid.

More than anything, though, he can't help but feel guilty about the bit of anger brewing in his chest when he thinks of Kuro and Wataru, their poor souls.

It's sad, plainly melancholy how just when Eichi needs Wataru's eccentric manner to cheer him up and making him feel light again, those same theatrics begin to annoy him, and when Wataru asks if he's alright, his usual politeness fails him, and he has to grit his teeth.

It's even worse with Kuro, whose very presence feels like salt on Eichi's wounds. Just seeing Kuro there, standing and talking with Keito, makes Eichi forget where he was going, distracted by the sharp jealousy digging into his spine, and he ends up tumbling against the wall.

“Hey,” he hears a gruff voice acknowledge, Kuro having evidently walked away  _ from Keito  _ to talk to Eichi (oh, that's a surprise!). “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine, Kiryu-kun.” Eichi pushes himself back up, watching as Kuro stays in place. “Hm, is something wrong?”

“I heard about your breakup,” Kuro says, hurried, like he isn't sure if he should be saying it. “It's fucked up, honestly, I'm sorry.”

Eichi sighs. “You don't need to apologise. Honestly, with how things are going, Keito might just up and leave me completely, so Akatsuki would have no reason to concern itself with my affairs. Still, before that happens… promise that you'll take care of Keito, alright? Even with what happened, I'd still send all the militia at my disposal if you did something to hurt him.”

“I'm not gonna be his rebound,” Kuro tells him with a raised eyebrow. “I don't see why I would, and I don't wanna.”

“Honestly, with how he acted, I get the feeling that what Keito and I had couldn't have been something too different from that.”

“Talk to him, then. If it upsets you so much, you should at least see what he was thinking.”

* * *

 

Except talking is hard with Keito, because when they finally find themselves in the same room, alone, they end up just staring at each other awkwardly.

“Kiryu said that you seemed pissed off.”

“Do you think I wouldn't be?” Rage undercuts all of his words, filing them down to a rough point and making them gritty against the sterile air between them.

“What about it makes you so upset? You didn't object to it, so why are you so angry?”

“What was I supposed to say? No matter what I said, it wouldn't change anything.” There's silence for a moment, the perfect breeding place for mounting tension, like a nail file against their skin. “...Did you even like me to begin with?”

Keito looks visibly taken aback. “Of course I did, we were dating!”

“Don't  _ of course _ me,” Eichi growls. “You wouldn't have gotten rid of me so easily if you actually did.”

“I didn't get rid of you easily!” He can try to deny it, but Eichi can tell, just from looking at how he's avoiding looking at him, that Keito is asking himself:  _ did  _ I get rid of him easily?

“If that's not easily, then what is!?” Eichi, ever the five year old, loses his patience, his temper, and pushes himself out of seat, resting one knee at Keito's side so that he can half-straddle him, getting a grip on Keito's hair to force him to look at Eichi. “You wouldn't just say  _ maybe we should break up _ if it was actually hard for you! And it was only one stupid fight, too! Ngh, you're awful! You just kept me around like that because you thought it'd be easier, didn't you?”

“In my defense,” Keito barks out, as if he's worthy of defense in the first place, “I had no way of knowing if you actually liked me with how indirect you are.”

“Of course I liked you, Bastard!” One hand trails down Keito's neck to whack his shoulder. “I  _ loved _ you, but it didn't make a difference, did it? At the end of it all, you couldn't bear to let yourself be hurt or unsure, so you just thought you should cut off everything between us! Do you really how miserable that is!?”

“How was I even supposed to know that you actually liked me!?’ Keito shoots back. “Everything seems to be a joke to you, anyway!”

_ A joke… !? _

In a surge of anger, disgust, and frustration, Eichi leans down to crash his lips against Keito's, all teeth and hate brewing in it. They bite at each other's lips for a bit, before Eichi leans back and snarls.

“Is  _ that  _ a joke to you?” he forces himself to ask, voice chillingly sweet. When Keito just grits his teeth, Eichi wipes the saliva from around his lips, sending Keito one last glare.

“You're awful,” he states, leaving no room for debate, not for Keito, not for anyone else, and definitely not for Eichi himself, because he can already feel guilt budding against his conscious.

He pushes himself off of Keito, one hand trailing to Keito's shoulder for support.

Keito should be holding it, with that gentleness so unique to him that the memory of it turns a faded blue, dyed with the shade of melancholy and anger that he feels right now, as he watches saliva (whether it's his or Eichi's is anyone's guess) dribble down Keito's chin.

Keito should be holding it, but he isn't, and and as Eichi's fingers curl into a first, nails digging into the skin painfully, for a second time, he wonders if he should use it to punch Keito.

He tries to, but Keito grabs at his wrist and growls.

Maybe, he could pretend that everything's alright, maybe he could worm his hand up until his fingertips are intertwined with Keito's.

But what difference does it make, when the emptiness he feels is so distinctly miserable that even that kind of physical contact wouldn't be enough to chase it away.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know


End file.
